Chapter 38 Frannie
Frannie squirmed down in her sleeping bag.
She had stayed up late, drinking beer with her friends and gabbing with Dottie and Jeff. Frannie told them goodnight as Vicky and Jerrylynn stumbled off to the tent.
“We’re going to go for a walk downstream,” Dottie said, holding Jeffrey’s hand. “It’s such a beautiful moon I want to enjoy it a little longer.”
Frannie helped Paul douse the fire with river water. He spread his sleeping bag down a couple yards away from the tent and said, “Sleep tight.”
“Don’t let the mosquitoes bite,” Frannie answered.
But Frannie couldn’t sleep. She lay awake with her thoughts swirling like a tornado.
Was Claire leaving Red? Did Paul like her as more than a friend?
Was anyone going to do something about the dog barking at the Wilsons’ campsite?
She thought about Dad, and how terrible she’d been to him.
It gave her a queasy feeling, thinking of him home alone and probably worrying about her.
Frannie gave up trying to get any shut-eye.
She slipped out of her sleeping bag and quietly undid the tent flaps.
She’d just go see if Claire was awake. As she walked toward the trailer, a movement down by the river caught her eye.
It was Paul standing by the water. She walked between the clumps of silvery grass and whispered, “Is that dog keeping you awake?”
“Nah.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Just thinking.”
Frannie looked over the sparkling water to the dark rise of the canyon wall above them. “You worried about Sam and Ernie?” She was proud that Paul had finally stood up for himself, but maybe they had been a little mean to dump Sam and Ernie in the middle of nowhere like they did.
“Heck no,” he said. “I bet they’re sleeping like rocks in a motel.”
He was probably right. “Thanks for being so good about my sister and her kid,” she said, nodding toward the trailer.
“She’s swell,” Paul said.
“She’s a pain,” Frannie retorted and Paul laughed.
“You look like Claire,” Paul said. “I could see the resemblance right away.”
Frannie was glad the dark hid the heat on her cheeks. Claire was beautiful, everybody said so. “I can’t see it.”
Paul made a sound of disbelief. “Wish I had a sister.”
Aw, that just made her feel even worse. She’d never doubted that Claire and Bridget loved her—Dad, too—and she’d been a brat to all of them.
She glanced over at the trailer. The lights were out and Claire was probably asleep.
She’d get up early and talk to her sister tomorrow, before they headed off to Ennis.
Claire would forgive her—she was good that way.
And maybe she’d even help her smooth things over with Bridget and Dad.
Frannie suddenly realized what a mess she was, with her hair all sticking up from tossing and turning. Her goofy pink pajamas. “I better get to—”
Suddenly the ground started to shake and she staggered. Paul reached out to her, and they were both thrown to their knees.
“Stay down—” she thought she heard Paul say as shouts and crashing filled the air.
She couldn’t have stood up if she tried. She flattened herself to the grass while everything went topsy-turvy, the ground rolling like waves. It seemed to go on forever, then—as suddenly as it had started—the shaking stopped.
That’s when she looked up and saw the mountain. Was it . . . moving?
How could a mountain move?
But it wasn’t moving . . . it was falling.
Time seemed to slow as the immense rock buttress above the canyon broke off and slid downward.
Sparks flew, boulders that had to be as big as houses bounced like ping-pong balls down the canyon wall.
She glimpsed Paul’s gaze following the mountain down, his eyes wide with shock.
Seconds behind the unbelievable sight came a roar like a freight train.
Frannie raised her hands to cover her ears, but as she did the wind hit her.
Then she was flying.
She tumbled, her arms flailing, grabbing for anything to stop her wild careening.
She landed among the rocks and felt a burst of pain in her shoulder as her body was pushed like a toy, crashing into rocks, scraped along the dirt.
She was yelling, she knew it because her throat hurt, but she couldn’t hear herself over the roaring.
Her hands found a branch, bark, a tree. She grabbed at it, holding with all her might.
A sleeping bag flew past her like a kite, and an ice chest tumbled upstream.
A yellow car—was that Jeff and Dottie’s car?
—careened sideways up the riverbank. People—she could see people—tumbling along the ground, tossed like rag dolls.
How much longer could she hold on?
Suddenly the wind stopped. She blinked her gritty eyes, trying to see the campground. Paul. Her sister and Jenny. Her friends. No moon, no stars. Nothing but black. She let go of the tree, her hands cramped and burning.
Then . . . what was that?
A rushing, rumbling sound like a waterfall. Not the river, it was too loud. And it was coming from downstream, wasn’t it? The fleeting question was followed by a ridiculous lightning-quick thought: Paul would know.
Then, a wave of water hit her like a brick wall and she couldn’t think at all.